


Now, If Not Forever

by secondrobin



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: F/M, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 13:30:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13124739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secondrobin/pseuds/secondrobin
Summary: It took a few days for Tom to feel finally in control again. By then, Lenny hated him for reasons that he couldn’t even remember and Tom had blacklisted him from every bar in the district. He told himself that was fine. That was better. He was still on track. He was doing what he needed to do.Enter Troth.





	Now, If Not Forever

**Author's Note:**

  * For [waveechocave](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waveechocave/gifts).



> Written for the TAZ Secret Santa run by kravalicious on Tumblr!! I got Tumblr user the-black-spider, who requested "Tom Collins warlock stuff". I am ALWAYS looking for an excuse to write about Tom, and I am DOUBLE ALWAYS looking for an excuse to write Tromth; so I had tons of fun writing this. I also added headcanons that both Tom and Troth are trans, which I hope was alright!
> 
> Warning, on that note: there's a lot of talk of physical transition and a bit of talk about dysphoria. However, I mostly kept with the "fantasy worlds shouldn't have transphobia if they don't have to" ideal. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

The thing about gods is that they almost always want something. Which, Tom figured, did make a certain amount of sense—he would probably get pretty annoyed if people kept coming to him and demanding favors while giving nothing in return. But the other thing about gods is that their needs are… weird. The oldest gods, especially. The forgotten gods, those old beings removed from the modern gods who act like mortals. They have no desire for food, for alcohol, for sex, for money.

All they desire is blood. Blood, and bones, and life.

Tom wasn’t born with magical powers, like a sorcerer; and he was never able to learn through schooling, like a wizard. A 20 year old college dropout, he surveyed his options and found them… not fantastic. Not religious enough to be cleric, not strong enough to be a fighter, not stealthy enough to be a rogue, not in tune with nature enough to be a druid. His almost total absence of depth perception meant ranger wasn’t even on the table. So what choice did he have? Disappoint his parents? Live a normal life?

Neither were options, really. He stood in the basement of his bar holding a man’s spine in his hands, and he told himself it was inevitable. It wasn’t his fault. He was just doing what he had to do. Besides, the man had been bothering women in his bar all night. Nobody would miss him.

The second time he killed someone, it got easier.

The third time, he started to enjoy it.

The fourth time, Lenny Manolito walked in halfway through.

“Hey, Tom, you down here?” The voice drifted down from the stairs. Tom froze, then flew into a flurry as he tried to make the scene less… obviously a murder. “I just wanted to go over my schedule for the next week—” Lenny walked in as Tom was trying desperately to shove the spine into an empty wine bottle. “What… the hell.”

Tom smiled sheepishly before darting over and pinning Lenny to the wall. It felt like he wasn’t entirely in control of his actions—his head felt so _hot,_ his hands were trembling as they moved in patterns he didn’t know, as his mouth said words he had never heard.

“Tom!” Lenny said, “Tom, I don’t—I don’t know what the _hell_ is going on here, but you’re—you’re a good kid, I know you are; if you got sucked into some—some cult shit or something, I can _help you,_ just let me—”

Multicolored abstract shapes floated up from the floor and danced around them as Tom said more words that he didn’t know. Lenny’s eyes slowly closed. He slumped against the wall. Using strength he didn’t know he had and walking in a direction he didn’t seem to choose, he picked Lenny up and carried him a few doors down to his apartment.

It took a few days for Tom to feel finally in control again. By then, Lenny hated him for reasons that he couldn’t even remember and Tom had blacklisted him from every bar in the district. He told himself that was fine. That was better. He was still on track. He was doing what he needed to do.

Enter Troth.

She was… different. From anyone Tom had known before. Well, obviously—Tom had never been friends with a Tiefling, and he had never even heard of a Tiefling being a monk. But there was more, too. Her drive to trust others when it went against everything in her nature, her absolutely stunning prowess in battle. The way you could lie and she’d stare at you like she knew every detail of every mistruth you spoke.

Tom mentioned how he was definitely a wizard for the eighth time that hour, and she stared at him like that. Like she _knew._ His head got hot and he started to lose control of his hands, and he started walking towards her.

 _Please, not her,_ he thought. _Anyone else, but not her._

He slowly regained control of his body. Troth furrowed her brow at him.

“Are you alright, friend?”

“I’m fine.” He forced a grin at her. “Completely fine, Troth.”

“… Alright.” She looked at him, expression unchanging. “Tom, you know you can tell me anything?”

“I know! I’m not keeping any secrets!”

“I didn’t say you were.”

“Oh. Well.” He cleared his throat. “Hey, do you hear that?”

“What?”

“I definitely hear Lenny calling for me. I should go see what he wants! Bye! I’m a wizard!”

He darted out of the room too quickly to hear her reply; but he could swear he heard her laughing to herself.

They ended up in a strange dance, after that. Troth knew—and Tom knew that she knew—and _Troth_ knew that _he_ knew that _she_ knew—but neither of them would bring it up directly. She seemed to be waiting for him to say something, and he was perfectly content to never speak on it. So the dance continued.

Things changed shortly after their relationship did. Looking back, Tom was never exactly sure when the shift happened—when he first became hyperaware of the way that the candlelight shined softly against her strong features, first felt his face flush while watching her fight, first became entranced by her hands as she took down and re-tied her bun. He hardly recognized what he was feeling, at first. That really only changed with her, when she complimented him with a hint of entirely uncharacteristic shyness and he realized with a jolt that she was _flirting._

Tom Collins, ever the smooth sailor, stared at her for a moment before turning and running out of the room.

Which, in retrospect? Not the greatest thing to do. It only took him a few minutes to realize how that must have read, that it would seem to any logical person like a rejection. He steeled himself and forced himself to run back into the room.

Troth looked upset. Which made sense, since Tom was an idiot. “Hey,” he said softly.

Her black eyes stared at the ground, avoiding his. “Hello, Tom.”

“You’re beautiful,” he blurted out. She whipped her head up to face him, and then her eyes narrowed.

“Are you mocking me?”

“Wh—no! Troth, no!” He took a step closer to her. “Troth, no, I—I really, _really_ do. Trust me?”

She stared at him for another long, long moment. He knew everything that must be going through her mind, knew she was weighing friendship versus gut reaction versus logic. “Okay,” she said finally, “I trust you.”

“There you go! Thank you.” He grinned, heart racing at about three thousand miles per hour. “Listen, I… I am not great with, uh, words? Or… feelings? Or, uh—lots of stuff, mostly involving other people? It’s kinda my weak suit. But, uh. You _are_ beautiful. And, you know, it’s—you know, it’s like—uh—well, you see, it’s—”

“Tom.”

“Yeah?”

Troth leaned forward and kissed him. It was a little clumsy, a little messy, but they fell into a good rhythm soon enough. They separated after a few moments, resting their foreheads together. Troth laughed breathlessly. “That… was nice.”

“Yeah.” He grinned, reaching up to put a hand on the back of her neck. “Yeah, it was.”

Lenny didn’t notice the change in their relationship for a good two months. To be fair, Tom didn’t think either of them knew exactly what the change _was_ ; but the fact that it was there seemed, to him, fairly evident. Obvious, even. They certainly made no move to _hide_ it. But Lenny apparently failed all of his perception checks, walking in on Tom and Troth holding hands or cuddled together on the couch and speaking to them as if nothing was different.

They had just settled into their newly-shared bed for the night, Troth carefully laying her head on Tom’s chest at the one angle they had discovered wouldn’t lead to him being impaled on her horns. A knock sounded on the door. Before either of them could answer, it swung open.

“Lenny!” Troth protested, sitting up and knocking Tom’s chin with her horns as she went. He winced. Her tail came out from under the blankets, flicking from side to side the way it always did when she was annoyed.

“Hey, I was looking for you two—” he paused, looking between them. “Wait—what are—are you two—”

“Out.” Troth said, picking up a pillow and throwing it at a door. Lenny caught it.

“A pillow? Really?”

“My staff is next.”

“Understood.” Lenny stared at them for another moment, shaking his head as he left.

Troth laid back down on Tom’s chest, sighing. Tom put a hand on her head, frowning at the door. “He took the pillow,” he muttered. “I was using that.”

Troth tilted her head back to look at him, eyebrow raised. “Don’t kill him over it or anything.”

“I wasn’t going to!”

Troth hummed, moving her head back and closing her eyes as Tom turned off the light. Lights began to dance on the inside of his eyelids. From the back of his mind, he heard the sound of a hundred thousand voices cascading and echoing together. _She knows,_ the voices hissed.

 _It’s fine,_ Tom protested, _If she was going to tell anyone else, she would have done it by now. She wouldn’t be here._

The voices didn’t say anything else, but something about the silence seemed more petulant than accepting.

Within another month, sleeping together had turned to _sleeping together._ It was preceded by a Talk, both because the first time having sex really should be and because Troth had something in particular to talk about.

They sat opposite each other on the bed. Troth sat with the composure characteristic of a monk, back straight and legs delicately folded. Tom sat slumped, and kept re-adjusting his legs with his hands. Troth breathed out, slowly.

“Tom,” she said, “Before we do this, I want to tell you something. I don’t—I don’t know if this will change anything for you, I don’t… know if I should have brought this up earlier? I wasn’t sure how relevant it was, and it’s not something I enjoy talking about, it’s not something I really like people to know. But it seems that it’s become relevant, so I want to tell you.”

Tom frowned. He hesitated before leaning forward and placing a hand gently on top of Troth’s knee. “Troth, hey. Whatever it is, it’s okay. I’m not gonna—I’m not gonna judge you or anything, you know? It’s okay, whatever it is.”

“Right. Right.” Troth exhaled. “I’m transgender.”

Tom blinked. Laughed. Troth furrowed her brow, frowning at him. “Is that… funny?”

“No! Shit, no, just—” he squeezed her knee. “I am, too.”

“Oh. _Oh._ ” She flung herself forward, kissing him. He ignored the slight pain as her horns bumped against his forehead, focusing instead on kissing her, on holding her, on very slowly and very gently laying her down on the bed.

Several hours later saw them curled up in bed together, naked and content and on the verge of sleep. “Tom?” Troth muttered from her spot on his chest.

“Mm?” He ran his hand through her hair, gently working out tangles with his fingers.

“Can I ask a question about your transition?”

“Yeah, sure. What is it?”

“Did you accomplish it with magic, or technology?”

“Oh, uh.” Tom cleared his throat. “Uh—magic. Transmutation magic.”

“Did you do it yourself?”

“Yeah.”

“Hm.” He heard a smile in her voice. “I didn’t know you specialized in transmutation magic.”

“Oh, you know, I just—I sure am a transmutation wizard!”

“Right.” She pressed a kiss to his chest. “Can we talk more about the spells you used later? I’m interested in physically transitioning; but I’m not comfortable with technology or proficient in transmutation magic, so I’m not sure what my options are.”

“Yeah!” Tom cleared his throat again. “Yeah, for sure.”

Troth soon fell asleep, but Tom found himself caught up in his thoughts. He could use the magic he had used for himself on Troth. But thus arose the dilemma. Tom Collins would do absolutely anything for Troth; but casting this spell would break whatever slight deniability he still possessed.

He fell asleep hours later, still uneasy.

It didn’t end up being a hard decision, all told. Tom knew what Troth was going through, and he knew he’d do anything to alleviate it.

It was a slightly different spell than he had used on himself, a Warlock spell based upon True Polymorph rather than Alter Self. It took a bit of bargaining and more than a few spines, but he finally felt ready to perform the ritual.

Troth laid naked in front of him, slowing inhaling and exhaling in a pattern that Tom recognized as one of her breathing exercises from the monastery. He brushed his hand lightly over her collarbone, and she slowly opened her eyes to look at him. “You okay?” he whispered. The candlelight reflected off of her skin, softening the primary red hue to look almost orange.

She nodded. “I think so.”

“Excited?”

“Very.”

“Nervous?”

“A little.” She exhaled, slowly. “But I trust you.”

Tom nodded. He lit a few more candles and fiddled with their placement, moving them centimeter by centimeter until he was satisfied. “Okay. Okay. Ready?”

“Did you lock the door?”

“I did, yeah.”

“Okay. Yeah.” She closed her eyes again. “I’m ready.”

Hours later saw them sitting together on their bed, Troth wrapped loosely in a robe as she adjusted to everything. “How’re you feeling?” he asked for about the hundredth time since they finished.

“Fine. Good.” She leaned against him, sighing. “Tom?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re not a transmutation specialist, are you?”

“Ah. Uh.” Tom sighed. He pushed the clamoring voices down. “Yeah, I. No. No, I’m not.”

“You’re a warlock?”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t do a great job at hiding it.”

“Yeah, I… I’m aware.”

“Does Lenny know?”

“Well, I mean.” Tom laughed, heart racing. “It took him about a hundred years to realize that the two of us were… are…”

“Dating?” she finished.

Tom grinned. “Dating. I guess he’s just… not that observant?”

“Sounds right.”

“Right.” He sighed, running his fingers through her hair. “Right. Hey, uh, Troth?”

“Mm?”

“Is this—does this change anything? Me being a warlock? I mean, like… with you being a monk, and everything.”

She pulled back, raising an eyebrow at him. “Tom, I’ve always known you were a warlock. If I cared, I would have made that clear a long time ago.”

Tom kissed the top of her head. He knew, with a deep and twisting feeling in his gut, that he wasn’t entirely out of the woods—he was still keeping secrets, there were still things left unspoken. And they would need to be spoken someday; but for now, maybe it was alright to stay like this. Together, uninterrupted.

He looked over at her, and the sounds in his head were silent. For now—if not forever—they were safe.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr @ fullyrealized


End file.
